


Loath/Loathe

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [154]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Johnlock Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 04:01:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6140872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>loath: adjective: ˈlōth, ˈlōth\\ˈlōth, ˈlōth: unwilling to do something contrary to one's ways of thinking :  reluctant</p>
<p>loathe: verb: to hate very much</p>
<p> </p>
<p>from Merriam Webster:</p>
<p>"Many usage commentators point out that the spelling of loath the adjective is distinct from loathe, the verb that means "to dislike greatly." Merriam-Webster dictionaries record loathe (along with loth) as a variant spelling for the adjective, at the same time indicating that the spelling with an e is not as common as the form without it. Both words hark back to Old English, and the e ending in each has come and gone over the centuries - but if you want to avoid the ire of those who like to keep the language tidy, stick with loath for the adjective and loathe for the verb."</p>
<p>Middle English loth loathsome, from Old English lāth; akin to Old High German leid loathsome, Old Irish lius loathing</p>
<p>First Known Use: 12th century</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loath/Loathe

Ever since he returned from Afghanistan, he always wore layers, ending with the ubiquitous bulky jumper, always. It didn't change once he moved into 221B, in fact, as his new flatmate seemed to have no regard for privacy or personal space, he never walked around the flat unless he was at least wearing a t shirt and trousers. It wasn't that he was ashamed of his figure, he managed to keep up his build from the military in spite of the injury, no, he was just loath for his curious friend to see the scars. The scars that made him replaceable, useless, unwanted, in a world that demanded perfection, or at least the ability to hold a scalpel without a tremor.

Even after they became more than just flatmates and friends, he would never let Sherlock see him without a shirt; Sherlock had his own quirks, so he didn't seem to mind too much. Everything else was perfect, more than perfect, he believed, until the case which landed him at Bart's. He woke up to find himself in a hospital bed; broken ribs, contusions, and a dislocated shoulder, luckily his right one, he diagnosed himself groggily, then realized he was topless except for the bandages that wrapped around his ribs. Damn. He looked down to find Sherlock by his side folded into one of the tiniest chairs he had ever seen. 

"Sher-"

"John."

"How long?"

"You've been out a couple of days, you were lucky a rib didn't puncture a lung."

"Lucky...right."

"It isn't ugly."

"What isn't?"

"Your shoulder."

"Damn."

"Please?"

"Why?"

"It's part of you, John, and I am selfish enough to want all of you. Scars and all, please, may I?"

John bit his lip, but nodded, and tightened his jaw as Sherlock scooted closer to the bed and tentatively began to trace the scar with his index finger, then bent over to place a kiss over the center of the mess. 

"Sher-"

"Do you know, every morning, when you are still asleep, before I get up to make you tea, I kiss this shoulder and thank it, thank it for bringing you to me? There is nothing to be ashamed about. You survived, John. You made it back, you made it back and you found me. Without these scars, we would not exist, pretty sure I would not still be here, without you invading my life when you did. Nothing at all to be ashamed about. Do you understand me?"

John carefully raised his hand before the pain made him regret even that slight movement.

"Damn. Look at me, please?"

Sherlock turned to look at John and gently kissed the tears that were falling. "You are perfect, John. You are beautiful and you are everything I will ever want. And I will tell you that every day for the rest of our lives, if I have to, even though you know how much I loathe repeating myself."

John started to chuckle before he remembered and groaned. "Oh fuck, that hurts, don't make me laugh."

"I'm sorry, love. Let me get a nurse and then I'll read to you from one of those spy things you love so much. Mrs. Hudson dropped it off last night when she came by. I love you." Sherlock kissed his doctor's nose then stretched to knock the kinks out of his back before he stood.

"Yeah, I know. I love you, too."


End file.
